


A Pit of Vipers

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [80]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Mild D/S undertones, Multi, Praise Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Sansa never dreamed of security after Lord Baelish sold her off. She never dreamed of it after being married to Tyrion, or engaged to Joffrey.Odd that she find it here, in Dorne, well within a nest of vipers who would see her happy before all others.---Or; Sansa cuts the tension and takes Ellaria, and Oberyn, to bed.
Relationships: Ellaria Sand/Sansa Stark, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/Sansa Stark, Oberyn Martell/Sansa Stark
Series: One-Shot [80]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	A Pit of Vipers

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited  
> There are more than a few spelling/tense errors but I can't find it within myself to fix at the moment. Maybe later. Might write more in this little one-shot A/u at some point.

There was something shameful to this act, she knew. Despite the fact that she was reassured time and time again that no, there was no shame, and no, she should not feel it. There was nothing to be ashamed of, these inclinations were her own, and she was _normal._ Normal, for Dorne. 

Normal, a term she came to understand - _or tried to, at the least_ \- on her way down south. They travelled from White Harbour to Planky Town, and from there they rode thin horses. Their steeds were much better suited to the arid climate than the massive, lumbering monstrosities that were raised up and revered - _though not so much as those Horse Lords across the sea_ \- in her own country. They were swift as could be, even if the speed wasn’t quite up to her liking. _Faster._ She needed to arrive with all due haste, and what seemed like years passed her by from one town to the next. 

After a time though, they _did_ arrive. Her quest was at an end the moment Prince Doran accepted her to his solar deep within the Water Gardens, his wizened gaze looking her up and down as he looked for - _without finding_ \- a fault. His eyes were hard, but his features were soft, and in him she was able to see Oberyn. Both princely, both regal, both shrewd and _kind._

Her rescuers, even if they both abhorred being called that, or accepting thanks for what they saw as a good and honest task. Oberyn would make a quip that brought a flush to her cheeks, and Doran would wave away her words despite the pain assailing his joints.

That meeting had been more than three months prior now, and while the bite of Winter was forming along the countries that lived far above Dorne, here it was only beginning to show a change of something milder. There had been a fair few grey mornings and the sunrise was clouded over with a blanket that seemed never-ending. Sansa was mildly amused at the change in dress for most who dwelt here, where the Sun refused to give up its domain. She was trueborn Northern stock, and they were the children of luscious springs, unending summer, warm autumns that led to muted winter. They’d never once suffered through false-spring, reborn winters, and though the chill would spread to Dorne it would be light, swift, and relatively painless. The breeze in the air was refreshing to her after spending so many months journeying southward, and the relatively short period of time she’d spent within Winterfell as wife to Bolton’s Bastard hadn’t been enough to satiate her desire for a simpler climate.

Sansa would spend her days laughing with Lady Ellaria - _who steadfastly corrected her every single time that Sansa began with,_ **_‘My Lady,’_ ** _but smiled all the same_ \- when her youngest children puffed themselves out, willing to brave embarrassment to impress the Northern Queen. They dawdled about, young and fresh, in thicker garb of wool that arrived from the Stormlands, their bodies tilted and off-balance from the added weight and cloth. Sansa smiled with Ellaria when the older woman declared the weather as a perfect fit for Sansa, tittering about this or that while she ran a hand down the length of red hair. She even declared - _before Oberyn and Doran both_ \- that it only served to make Sansa’s striking beauty that much easier to pick out, not that she hadn’t been hard to see before. Lady Ellaria was like no other, and like that much more often, Sansa supposed, than she’d have imagined their simple friendship could explain. Ellaria was willing to lay hands upon her in a gentle manner, and wick away what tears came, unbidden, to Sansa’s eyes.

Lady Ellaria was a _true_ Lady, even if she protested that moniker - _far too much in Sansa’s opinion_ \- and Sansa felt free to continue labelling her as such. Besides, she’d caught the edges of Ellaria’s smirks. She’d drank in that gentle smile, the ways her eyes lit up when she was addressed _\- by a Northerner, no less, and a Queen at that (despite her status as a Queen without a home)_ \- as if she were just the same as any other, and her status as a bastard mattered not. It _didn’t_ matter, not here in Dorne, but it did to all those above them. Sansa was ostensibly here for rescue and recovery, and the Dornish had taken her in willingly, knowing where she came from. Still, she held no wish to offend her hosts or show off the naivety that had come with growing up in lands far from here. Her position here was diplomatic as much as it was humanitarian, and Sansa knew that nothing would happen to her so long as she refrained from grave insult, but she made to refrain from the small ones as well.

It wasn’t hard. They were all too nice to her, but that nicety lacked the hidden barbs that she’d been pricked with in King’s Landing.

Ellaria would laugh with her, sit quietly with her, read and roam the twisting, marbled canals of the Water Gardens with her. Ellaria would touch her, as of late, innocently and not so innocently in kind. There was nothing but a reflection of Sansa’s emotions in her eyes, no hidden plot. There was a game for them to play, and Sansa recognized that. But it was not the games played in the lands to the north, and one that would leave her whole, _safe._

Sansa knew that for a fact when Ellaria caught sight of the multitude of scars that lined her body. It was the first time that someone of a higher rank, and not a Maester, had seen her body. Ellaria had let out an utterance of horror, the sound _bursting_ from the woman’s throat for all of a second before she’d managed to compose herself. She’d leaned in towards where Sansa stood, silently, her head bowed in shame and long arms wrapped around herself. The motion had startled Sansa for a moment and she’d looked up into Ellaria’s eyes, finding not pity but understanding, _love_ instead of horror. That relaxed the ice that had grown atop her heart, and Sansa had wearily leaned into the offered embrace, melting.

When was the last time that someone had truly cared so much to comfort her? The Maester in Winterfell had pitied her there, and had cared for her as much as his position had allowed him to. But that had been without true emotion. She’d simply been a mistreated pet within his care, and he’d done well enough to not step on her. Theon had cared, in his broken way, but then he’d disappeared within the snowdrifts. He’d told her they needed Dorne, they needed _south,_ and she’d fled with his words in mind. He’d cared, but at the edge of desperation and regret. The voyage south had seen her buffeted by the coarseness of sailors and passengers alike, and to them she’d merely been another body on board for a price. Even here, when she’d first arrived, she’d been kept secluded until they could ascertain that yes, in fact, she was exactly who she said she was. After that she had been lavished with a servant who had kept her eyes down whenever Sansa asked for privacy to dress, and when she’d wandered about the canals and pools she’d been dressed in clothing light, but opaque. The water had simply served to dampen her back and hide her scars even further. The ones on her legs, on her arms, were seen but not commented on. Most of those had become silvery enough to fade into the background of her skin, pale as it was. They were hard to differentiate from abject abuse to wounds picked up when she’d first fled King’s Landing with her Fool.

No one had cared, not until now.

Now Ellaria could see each and every mark embedded in Sansa’s skin, the evidence of multiple swords being smacked again and again until they had managed to rip apart the skin and mottle her forever. Ramsay’s evidence was all around her waist and chest, the small of her back, and Ellaria murmured sweet nothing as she traced them, her voice as soft as she could manage. Sansa had hardly even realized that she’d been crying by the time that Oberyn found them both, embracing as if Sansa would crack and fall to pieces if Ellaria didn’t keep her close. His face had fallen from a wondrous smile - _and oh how she had been counting on that smile lately, enjoying it without fear for it fit his face beautifully, much the same as Ellaria’s fit her own_ \- into a frown, and then into a deep-seated rage. It purpled his cheeks and left his lips as thin lines that Sansa thought might disappear entirely.

Things had changed between them, after that, or perhaps they hadn’t changed so much as deepened. Ellaria still sat with her on the steps that led down to the heated pools, she left lingering touches and words of appreciation flitting about Sansa’s ears. Oberyn was more direct with her, clearer, and helped her to navigate the world of royalty without having anything to rule. He lifted her where she could not climb herself, engaged with her in lively debate that left her heartbeat passionately stirring beneath its cage. He dragged her off - _fingers twined together, so tight she might have burst_ \- to see dignitaries and the intricacies of Dorne’s semi-independent court. Doran helped her as well, as much as he could, with ravens and missives, words of passionate advice. He orchestrated her dealings with Jon, and the now rescued Rickon.

He even hinted at marriages and his brother’s penchant for remaining untied.

It was a lovely change of pace and quite continuous, only seeming to ramp up the longer she remained in Dorne. Finally - _after many weeks where the tension seemed to be as strong as the pungent feeling before lightning struck true_ \- Ellaria pushed it further, leaning in to brush her lips against Sansa’s. There was nothing for her to do except reciprocate, she’d seen how Dorne handled relationships and had long ago come to terms with her own desires, nevermind the fact that she was a grown woman of eight and ten who could make up her own mind on what dalliances she joined with.

Ellaria tasted of smoke, ashes and the heat of a fire in the depth of winter. She tasted of oranges, of something sweet yet tinged with spice. She was extravagance unmatched, sensuality unbound. It was luxurious and scrumptious, and as Sansa pulled back for air she smiled, within only to have another taste.

She did, soon enough, and this time there was nothing to hold her back. There was no one around, no appointments at Doran’s court, nothing for her to review and no ravens to send off with missives into the night. It wasn’t that late yet, but nearing so, and so she took ahold of Ellaria’s hand - _her fingers fine-boned and thin, strong and practices, as hot as the desert sand_ \- as the woman moved to whisk her back towards the apartments that she shared with Oberyn, a smile filled with mirth plastered on both their faces. There were no servants hanging about, no one except Ellaria and the open promise of Oberyn’s presence in an hour or two when he’d finished his dealing with his brother.

Ellaria was exactingly gentle as she led Sansa towards a chaise, a table at its side filled out with plates and bowls of food. There were heaps of grapes that were flanked by delicate cheeses, slices of oranges and fruit that Sansa lacked the names of, though she knew their flavour on her tongue. They dawdled there, together, feeding one another and nipping at their proffered fingers until their lips were sticky and eyes gleaming. Their bodies were pressed together as one with Sansa atop of Ellaria, her palm cradling the gentle curves of the woman’s chin. Sansa leaned in again and took ahold of their interaction, ruled those sun-kissed lips. Gentle nips, a tongue present and exploring, the both of them building higher and higher.

They lay there in repose for what seemed to be ages, and when Sansa felt herself fit to burst she pulled away and lowered herself onto the sandstone floor. Its panels and tiles of interlaced marble and wind-worn sandstone were cold beneath her knees and served to spike the heat of her chest even higher. She kept herself still, chest puffed out, tongue licking away the remnant juices of an orange, eyes only for Ellaria. When she could refrain herself any further Sansa leaned in, stole a kiss, pulled back and then stood up. With a slowness that was for Ellaria’s benefit and not her own, Sansa undressed. Bit by bit the finery of Dorne fell away until only her smallclothes remained and Ellaria’s eyes were happily drinking in the sight. The older woman’s lips were quivering, her chest expanding, contracting, shivering as she lay there and watched.

Sansa unlaced the cloth covering her breasts with a smirk, pulled away at the fabric until it fell down onto the floor under its own weight. Her chest was bared to the woman before her, and Sansa counted it a win when her nipples pebbled in the chilly air, and Ellaria’s eyes widened. She leaned forward to gracefully tug Ellaria from the chaise, and when she stood Sansa was reminded, yet again, that the woman was just barely under her own height. What possessed her to be so forward - _there, standing chest to chest with the woman who inflamed her passions like only one other_ \- she couldn’t say. She was comfortable with Ellaria, _wanted_ Ellaria, and with a smile she let the other woman drag down the silken fabric that covered her flower, and the tuffet of red hair atop her mound. When she was bare, skin cool, she moved to stand behind Ellaria, eyes only breaking away when Ellaria could no longer look behind herself. Deft fingers helped the woman from her own clothing, Sansa nervously twitching her nails against the bronze of Ellaria’s strong back. Ellaria’s garb was much lighter than Sansa’s though, and soon enough she was done. Hungry eyes devoured the woman standing bare before her, back turned into Sansa’s chest, body shivering with evident delight and anticipation.

Sansa wound her arms around Ellaria’s midriff, her hands splayed out onto too-warm skin, lips pressed down into the fluttering of the woman’s pulse. They stood there for a time and simply soaked up the beauty, grace, and poise of their soon to be lover. That _was_ what Ellaria was, though Sansa fervently hoped it could be more. Less like _lover,_ more like _love._

Ellaria made her feel safe and guarded, comforted and cared for, appreciated and special. Oberyn managed to do so as well, in his own way, and it was on that thought that the man himself entered into the chamber. Sansa removed her hands from Ellaria’s waist and brought them to the woman’s shoulders, her strong hands kneading away worry and tension, knotted muscles bleeding stiffness away. Oberyn stared at them both with a haze of lust clouding his eyes, and a smirk so skillfully etched across his face that Sansa thought - _for but a moment_ \- that he’d been chiselled out by the Gods. Old, or New, she didn’t know. What she _did_ know was that he was beautiful, regal and poised. Not so pure to look upon as a woman but the same in a different form, different function. Clean lines, harsh slopes, a mounting grace to his features that spoke of good health and strong living. He sauntered towards them both and when Sansa tensed, just before he reached them, he winked. All her worries - _that she hadn’t even truly been aware of, but her body had; muscles hardening and breath quickening as the moment came nearer and nearer_ \- seemed to fade away.

Oberyn leaned in to capture his paramour’s lips, his hands passing by Ellaria to land upon Sansa’s body, his strong hands capturing her rear, her back, rubbing up and down. He pressed himself - _still clothed_ \- into Ellaria, and Ellaria - _still naked, and heating, burning, a swatch of the sun brought low_ \- pressed back into Sansa. The searing kiss that Sansa had watched, eagerly, was ended, and then he stood back and smirked again.

Oberyn stepped back and Ellaria moved forward, tugging a starstruck Sansa along until she understood what they were doing. With a smile Sansa approached Oberyn on his left, Ellaria on his right, and soon they were both well set to pull away the restrictive - _yet not so much as she was used to far up north_ \- clothing that he wore. Buttons were loosened on quick fingers, soft touches, and with every revelation Sansa felt herself warm even further. Eventually, it seemed the same furnaces that kept the canals, pools, and baths of the Water Gardens warm during even the harshest of Dornish winters had taken residence within her cheeks, her chest, deep within the pit of her belly. Her pulse was quickening still and she fought to keep herself from blindly pouncing as she stared and stared. Eventually, they reached his smallclothes and Ellaria stopped, stepping aside. She gestured once for Sansa to join her, and as they retreated back towards the massive bed wedged up against a corner of the room, Sansa nearly fell to pieces. She knew that Oberyn was following by the sound of his bare feet upon the floor, and when she made as if to turn away and look, unashamedly, Ellaria pounced. The woman tugged her down onto the bed instead, her hands and knees serving well as she was dragged back towards the wooden slats that made up the headboard, pillows scattered all about.

The mattress was so soft beneath her skin, her knees, the silks and finery atop it even more so. Oberyn laughed as she sank into the bed, even more comfortable than her own, her movement languid and slow as she pushed forward with evident revelry. He, and then Ellaria, whispered assurances to her that if she needed them to stop, they would. If she was hurt, they’d pull away, and if anything was so much as mildly uncomfortable assailed her heart then they would retreat and speak no more on what could, would, or might occur between the three of them.

Sansa’s answer was to turn around and lean forward, ripping away that last little bit of cloth that kept Oberyn more chivalrous than the rest of them. When his manhood was revealed, iron-stiff and striking, Sansa gasped. She sucked in her breath and looked, delighted, wondering and amazed as she delighted in the abject _beauty_ of his body. Ellaria merely giggled, whispering patiently in Oberyn’s ear before tugging him down to join them, slotted perfectly between them both. Sansa remained on Oberyn’s left side as his back sank down deep into the bedding, his lips immediately captured by her own while their breath turned to one. Her eyes were shut but her hands were not, fingers and palms reaching out to explore the chiselled plane of his abdomen, his chest, turning slowly along the fingery of his muscles and brushing against what hair kept. Ellaria joined to his right and brought her hand lower such that Oberyn was forced to grunt out into Sansa’s lips when the sudden feeling of being gripped by the cock - _and worked with a masterful hand_ \- reached his brain.

His breath caught and he gasped at them both, pulling back and leaning further into the softness of the pillows, eyes closed and arms splayed out to the sides as Sansa took to more intimate studies. She ran her tongue along the angled bones of his shoulders, his collarbone in particular, the structure being prominent enough that she felt compelled to bite, nip, and then lick against the marks she’d given him. He murmured something pleased, something surprised, his appreciation of her going straight to something that he liked without ever telling her so.

She _wanted_ to do right by them. She had learned as much as she could in books passed off, or borrowed from their shared libraries, and now she put herself towards the task of applying all that hardwon knowledge. Slow touches and gentle fingers, Sansa moved with grace towards what she wanted and what made the sweetest sounds. Oberyn lay underneath of her like some fine doll, open to all her ministrations and directing her nowhere in particular. He seemed pleased enough to give her the freedom and space to explore his body for herself. Ellaria mimicked her motions across Oberyn’s right side, and Sansa caught heady glimpses of the older woman as she moved. The sight served to inflame her passions, higher and higher. Sansa wanted them both, and it was with that in mind that she pushed herself to mimic the scene in a book that she’d read, one that had left her heart pounding furiously within her chest and cheeks tinged so much that they might have matched her hair entirely.

Sansa lowered herself and then rolled across Oberyn's body until she was straddling him, the slickness running between her legs a ready balm to the burning within her chest. His manhood was taut and eager underneath her, twitching between her legs, and she ground down upon him, forwards and back, until little moans and gasps were escaping past his lips. In the same motion she gently manoeuvred Ellaria, pulled and positioned her, and soon enough the woman understood without words exactly what was desired of her. She took her place and readily straddled Oberyn’s face as his hands reached up to position her hips, now that he was in on the game, his tongue already setting to work if the look on Ellaria’s face was anything to go by.

Sansa felt herself ready now and reached down between her thighs to grasp him, gently, and position the head exactly where she needed it, where she wanted it, and sank down slowly atop of him.

The gasp - _an utterance that was filled with_ ** _need_ ** \- that Oberyn let out only served to drive Ellaria further, a strange - _but delicious_ \- look upon her face when the vocalization reached her slit. The woman leaned in and grasped Sansa by the back of her neck, one hand left to stabilize herself atop of Oberyn’s chest, lips only for Sansa and her eyes shut tight. Sansa rolled forward, let herself become acclimated to the stretch, the burn, that pleasant heat that filled her up until she feared that she might burst.

The first rollicking motions were a test more than anything, and Sansa struggled to keep her pace steady as she rose, felt him slip away but not out, and then crashed back down upon his hips, pressing Oberyn further into the mattress. The motion left Ellaria pleasantly rocking, her eyes rolling back beneath their lids and a tongue peeked out to run up the side of Sansa’s cheek. Ellaria tasted of all the warm things that Sansa had ever liked, the niceties of Dorne and Sansa relished the feeling of dragging back Ellaria’s tongue with her own, their breath a shared space and heartbeat met for heartbeat. They rose up together, in time but opposite, and soon enough Sansa was moving faster, pushing herself further towards that heat that leaked out from her cheeks, her neck, down out across her chest to flutter and gather within her belly, and then lower still until it was so strong and so _hot_ that she could not keep herself from stopping.

When she finally came it was with a startled gasp, her body pulling away from Ellaria as she bowed her head down, hands pressed onto either side of Oberyn’s ribs, her face open and eyes shut, body _quivering._

But they weren’t yet done.

Sansa slowed down, eventually, and when the feeling became too much for the moment she pulled up and away from Oberyn’s body. Ellaria was swiftly following with her and the prince letting out an amused - _and pleased_ \- tut, as he watched them both move away.

“Here,” Ellaria said, pulling Sansa closer. She leaned back and reclined into the pillows at Oberyn’s side, dragging Sansa forward until she was on her knees, then her elbows, then her chest. Her face was brought close as Ellaria leaned down, the hands of her lover lingering upon her cheeks until Sansa was guided towards the woman’s centre, nails rubbing into her scalp.

Ellaria leaned further down until her lips were pressed atop of Sansa’s hair, kisses meted out between breaths.

_“Good girl.”_

Those were simple words, just those two, uttered softly but with more than enough depth to send Sansa spiralling down inside of herself, deep within the confines of her mind. Logic and reality fell to the wayside as Ellaria pulled her down again and led her fully to her slit, still weeping, still wet from Oberyn’s efforts. Sansa tried, slowly, with experimental licks up and down those folds, tasting salt and something more. Sansa found it to be to her liking and - _with renewed energy_ \- pushed herself to dig in. The nubbin of flesh at Ellaria’s apex was engorged, and Sansa rolled against it with the tip, then the flat, of her tongue. She moved in teasing motions, coaxing more wetness from Ellaria, coaxing moans as well. Oberyn was - _much to Sansa’s delight_ \- not waiting too long to move. He wasn’t lying beside them anymore, nor had he left the bed after she released herself from being impaled. Instead, he’d rolled over and grasped at her feet, her ankles, following the rolling curve of Sansa’s calves until he’d grasped her by the waist and gently pressed her down. A hand rose up along the curve of Sansa’s back and as she licked faster into Ellaria she felt him settle behind her with legs outside of her own. That hand upon her back was lavishing attention to what had once been her shame, following every scar and every blemish, his lips pressing kisses in his hand’s wake. He moved on eventually and brought his hand lower, slipping between her own thighs until she was, again, impaled, though this time with his fingers.

Sansa gasped at the intrusion and tried to push herself back into his ministrations. Oberyn wasn’t having any of that though, and he kept her locked where she was with his overly strong thighs buttressing her own. Ellaria let her hands, and her fingers, roam out across Sansa’s scalp, twisting and twining into her hair until Sansa was pulled back to task. Behind her Oberyn held tighter still with his legs, moving forward atop of her until she could feel the now-familiar press of his manhood against her rear, angled with his hand until once more he’d gained entrance. Her flower and the nubbin atop of it were pleasantly heated, all of it wet, and he commented on it by leaning forward to drop her body and nibble against the back of her neck. HE was heavy and kept her still, tightly wound beneath him as he remained motionless inside of her, kisses ghosting across her shoulders until finally, _blessedly,_ he began to rock back and forth, each motion pressing Sansa’s face further against Ellaria’s core.

Ellaria responded in kind by spreading herself further, legs bowed out and knees bent. She cried out soft words of praise, kind things that fell down upon Sansa’s ears and left her heart _fluttering_ despite the actions carried out between them all. Oberyn was moving to help her to come to completion once more, his motion pushing her towards those heights, but it was Ellaria who came next. When she did there were sparks exploding behind her eyes, her body stuttering and shivering, and the weeping cunt that Sansa was licking, flicking with her tongue, now fluttered around what it could grab. Release coated Sansa’s cheeks, her chin, and harsh nails deliciously scraped against her neck, her scalp, her cheeks and shoulders. Ellaria finally found herself spent and pushed Sansa’s face away with a contented sigh, and Sansa calmed herself with wet kisses pressed against the woman’s inner thighs.

Oberyn moved faster after Ellaria finished, and soon enough the constant grind and fullness led Sansa off her own cliff. Her body tightened up once more and then released, a long, low moan escaping past her lips. Ellaria palmed her cheeks, thumb left to brush against Sansa’s lips, and she took a moment of courage there to grasp that thumb between her teeth. Her tongue pressed against it until Ellaria moved, letting it fall further in, and Sansa’s tongue set to massaging the pad of it, swirling around as she looked up towards Ellaria. Sansa’s body was a live wire coming off of that high, and Oberyn made himself noticed with a grunt as he finished. His length twitched heavily inside of her as he released his seed, and Sansa spared herself a swift moment to think of moon tea before allowing herself to simply relish in the feeling as it tapered off and he removed himself. The stretch and burn had been pleasant and without him inside she felt empty, but satisfied. With the last ounce of strength she had, Sansa rolled out from underneath of him and over Ellaria’s leg, dragging the woman down as Oberyn moved up.

Content, and collapsing, Sansa allowed herself to succumb to the pleasant feelings and brimming emotions. Ellaria showered her with constant kisses, and Oberyn laid his own atop of her as well. She fell asleep there, in a tangle of limbs, each of her new paramours proclaiming her the best, the sweetest, and she dreamt of love unending.


End file.
